


Till It's Gone

by barcelona (orphan_account)



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-02
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:26:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/barcelona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The unthinkable happens to Martin: He doesn't want to fly. </p><p> Originally written for <a href="http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/783.html?thread=2962959#cmt2962959">meme prompt</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till It's Gone

…

Four months ago he was Captain Martin Crieff of MJN Air.

Three weeks ago he was First Officer Martin Crieff of Easy Jet.

Two minutes ago he was Mister Martin Crieff, owner and founder of Icarus Removals.

One potted plant ago he became Martin Crieff, apparent suicide jumper and man on a ledge.

…

Martin looked up at the dark uniform jacket hanging from his door, its three golden stripes stark against the black. It was a fine fitting thing, certainly more auspicious looking than what he had donned in the past.

The first day he had worn it, Martin had admired his reflection whenever the opportunity presented itself. Yet when the pilot had glanced himself in the mirror last night he couldn’t help but want to strip the jacket from his shoulders as quickly as possible.

Now that he saw it in the midday sun, Martin wondered why he had ever liked the thing in the first place.

With a sigh, Martin rolled over onto his back and stared down his length at the first officer’s cap resting on the edge of the bed’s footboard just above his toes. The thing was unbelievably bare, almost obscenely so, and the small man missed the ridiculous ornamental gold that had usually greeted him.

Martin reached for his mobile and called in sick.

…

Until three months ago Martin hadn’t thought about his missed Easy Jet interview for years, mainly because the position had been filled before he could reschedule, and partly because he had soon stopped wanting to work elsewhere. In fact, the young captain wouldn’t have looked twice at the notice in his e-mail if the van wasn’t down for repairs and he hadn’t been desperate for a meal that didn’t consist of solely starch and cheese.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he was actually going to get the job, so one little interview couldn’t hurt.

Only he got a call a few days later and was offered the position.

It was for first officer, but the pay was good and steady.

Not honestly considering taking the job, well a little, but not really, Martin still opted to get Douglas’ opinion on the matter. Douglas had been a little teasing; expressing surprise that Martin had been considered at all, but had eventually conceded that Martin should perhaps accept the position.

A little put-out, Martin had sought out Carolyn after the flight. She was more than displeased that he had slunk off to an interview without informing her, and had all but told him to bugger off if the money was so important to him. Miffed, Martin had asked if she wanted him to go, and Carolyn had replied with a question of her own: why would he stick around with a finer, paying job on the line?

Martin didn’t have a better answer than, “I don’t know.”

“Well, that settles that then.”

Of course, next was Arthur, whom actually seemed genuinely distraught over the idea of losing his skipper. Yet when asked what Martin should do, Arthur fretted between telling Martin to stay regardless and suggesting Martin not miss the chance.

After all was said and thought over, Martin finally handed in his resignation letter and declined the offer of a “farewell dinner”.

…

Icarus Removal ads went missing from the papers.

…

Easy Jet was everything Martin had thought it would be, and he embraced the refreshing efficient professionalism they adhered to. Most his captains seemed to like him, and although he had successfully failed to flirt with any of the cabin crew, he got the feeling they were more amused by his attempts than completely put off.

With new clothes hanging in his closet and cupboards full of a wonderful variety of food, Martin began to look more like the fit young thing he was instead of the walking bag of bones he had been playing. The van was running better than ever, and within eight weeks of working with a solid salary Martin had enough comfort that he set up a car fund.

For all the world knew, the pilot was very content with MJN out of his life.

Even so, Martin constantly checked his messages for three contacts he never saw.

…

Three months and Martin found himself tiring more quickly on the lifeless flights he operated, the most routine things a hassle. The impossibly cheery Easy Jet logo became a sort of nuisance, and Martin began hiding his travel bag and uniform when he got home so he just wouldn’t have to look at it. And despite his own open nature, Martin hardly knew his co-workers’ favorite actor let alone the name of their dog, or their unhealthy relationship with happiness, or that their ex-wife preferred tai-chi over brown sauce.

Then one morning Martin found his bed more alluring than the flight deck and decided to stay home.

…

He lazed about for the most part, feeling guilty about leaving the company short a pilot, but not feeling up to the tedious act of flying that night.

Come the next day he called in sick again, and avoided any questions into his well-being.

To keep busy, Martin helped some of the students about the house and even offered up his van services free of charge. He found the work revitalizing. Some part of him had missed lugging heavy objects about from one end of Fitton to the other.

When he went to bed that night, he didn’t have a shred of guilt in him for missing work.

Tomorrow, Martin had off.

He spent his third day home out on the porch, enjoying the spring sun and fresh lemonade one of the girls had brought him as thanks for the day before. With his eyes closed, Martin relished the rare moment of burden-free peace.

With nothing more than a lazy afternoon ahead of him, Martin took in the quiet sounds of the neighborhood and let his mind drift between sleep and consciousness.

At some point he heard a plane go overhead and briefly wondered if he had flown it.

A sigh soon followed that thought and Martin looked up at the skies. It seemed like forever since he had last been in them, and he honestly couldn’t care if he ever found his way there again.

…

Martin closed himself in his attic, feeling sick and shaky and paced about, wringing his hands and trying to wrap his mind around that revelation.

Martin Crieff, for the first time in over thirty years, did not want to fly. Ever. He just, couldn’t see himself doing so again. The very thought of getting back on the flight deck made his chest heavy and his limbs feel like deadweight he had to fight against.

He couldn’t do it, he just couldn’t do it.

There was something wrong with him, there had to be.

He _loved_ flying!

Had loved.

No, no, he just…

Martin flopped down onto his bed with a small laugh, and put his head in his hands.

God he hated flying.

He hated it; he really, really hated it. It was so – _boring_! So mundane, there wasn’t anything special about it anymore. Like a new song you replay too many times, or that favorite sweet your parents keep buying you. Sooner or later it gets stale.

Martin just never thought flying would.

It had been his whole life.

He had never even considered doing anything else.

Now, all those years of fighting and holding on…

Maybe his father had been right; maybe he wasn’t cut out to be a pilot.

Maybe some dreams were meant to be let go.

…

For the second time that year, Martin handed in a resignation letter for a small charter airline.

As he left to a chorus of goodbyes and luck wishing, Martin realized he didn’t really know who they were. He’d been working with strangers.

…

When he got home, he was more than relieved to see his door free of the pilot’s uniform.

…

The next week was spent in the attic, moping about with nothing to do. Martin could feel himself sinking; felt his heart dulling to the sensations of the world and hollowing. Martin simply didn’t have the energy left, and so most his time was spent on his bunk wondering where he had gone wrong and what the hell he should do next.

No answers came, but just when Martin began to wander towards giving up, his mobile rang.

…

An old Icarus ad had escaped the pull and caught the attention of an elderly man in need of a van to deliver an antique children’s bed. Martin had jumped on the opportunity if for nothing more than something to do, and found himself practically skipping through the job - his cheery nature earning him a fat tip at the end.

Feeling slightly revitalized after the hard labor, Martin went home satisfied.

Something shifted after that night and suddenly everything was a lot brighter. Martin had purpose again, and the hole flying had left was quickly filled by removal job after removal job. With Icarus back in the newspapers and his hours now steady, more and more people sought his relatively inexpensive services.

This carried on for another few weeks and Martin found he enjoyed being a “Man with a Van” and the occasional electrician. He began to speak more with his clients and even got the number of an older but very lovely woman. Falling into the routine of almost daily removals, Martin ignored the cutbacks he had to make and rarely ever dwelled on his past career.

To the rest of the world, Martin Crieff was content once more.

…

“Your hours changed,” Mr. Mackin, a removal regular, chatted as he found the key to unlock the apartment.

“Yes, well, the world’s seen fit to put me on the right path.”

“Oh, that’s good I suppose. You don’t look like you used to though.”

“How do you mean?”

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re certainly healthier, but you’re less… I don’t know, ignore me, I’m getting on in years and I’m not the best at reading people. Just so long as you don’t try to rob me.”

Martin chuckled, “Oh don’t worry, I-I’m not that desperate… anymore.”

“What?”

“It’s rather empty isn’t it?” Martin asked, staring over the miraculously shorter man’s head and into the nearly bare flat.

Mr. Mackin blinked and then quickly stepped out of the way to let Martin in, “Oh yes, Ms. Angela Park, never one to keep much, poor thing didn’t deserve what that bastard did to her. Animal. You’re not looking for a new place are ya? It’s rather nice, despite its history, and decently priced.”

“No, no, I’m not, sorry.”

“Shame, anyway here’s the list of what goes with you, pretty sure it’s just everything left. The key, lock up when you’re done.”

…

Hardly an hour later and the flat was completely devoid of anything resembling furniture or decoration. All that was left were the wooden floors and rose colored walls. Yet, when Martin checked his list, there was still one thing left unscratched – a hanging plant in what was apparently a rather expensive piece of pottery based on the large "£" written in red and underlined next to the bullet.

There was no way he’d get away with leaving it, but when Martin looked around all the rooms were empty and the stairway clear.

Martin stepped back into the flat, confused, until his eyes settled on the single living room window and Martin had the sudden urge to slap himself round the head.

Of course, Crieff, don’t be an idiot, Martin huffed and quickly opened the window, peeking his head through and swinging his eyes about.

There, jutting several feet off the side of the building to Martin’s right, was the most ghastly looking plant and pot ensemble the man had ever had the displeasure to lay eyes on. As if the thing’s appearance alone wasn’t enough to put Martin off, the plant hung just out of reach of the window and it looked like Martin would have to venture the ledge in order to get it.

Looking down at the street thirty feet below, Martin took a steadying breath and hauled himself up through the window, thankful for the calm, pleasant morning weather. Keeping a tight grip on the building, Martin edged his way closer to the plant and took hold of its pole to keep steady.

Hooking a finger on its cord, he lifted the plant up and away before slamming himself against the building when his balance teetered. Letting out a relieved sigh, Martin did his best not to look down as he began to edge closer to the window and safety – the very old, very not taken care of window that saw it fit to suddenly become aware of the ex-pilot’s luck and slam shut on its own accord.

The squeak Martin made was decidedly unmanly, and he promptly put the plant down on the ledge where even it fought not to fall while he fought to push the window back open. With an even more unmanly whine, Martin learned the damn thing had somehow latched itself locked.

“Oh god,” Martin turned back towards the street, “Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic, I’ll just call-“

Martin sighed and pulled his hand away from the empty pocket where his mobile was supposed to be. He’d left it in the van after confirming that day’s job. So he was stuck until someone noticed him and opened the bloody window.

Martin considered screaming when a woman on the street did that for him and then the concrete below was suddenly filled with murmuring people as the sound of a siren rang clearly in the distance.

It figured that just when Martin’s life seemed to be running smoothly the universe would take a fairly nice day and turn it into a terribly bad one.

…

Everyone quickly came to their own conclusions and Martin was finding it very difficult to explain when no one would listen to his fumbling words, especially the officer on the megaphone who kept trying to reassure Martin that tomorrow was worth it if he just pushed through today.

“Please, we want to help you. What’s your name?”

“Martin! Now-now-now just open the window!”

“We’re here to help, Martin – it’s never hopeless!”

“I didn’t- I didn’t say it was! I’m not trying to jump!”

“No! Don’t jump! Martin, today may look bleak, I know I’ve been there, but this isn’t the answer.”

Martin rolled his eyes and pushed himself back, but when he was about to try and reason with them once more a familiar Lexus suddenly stopped just as it came round the corner and Martin felt his insides run cold.

That’s right; this street was a shortcut from Carolyn’s house to the airfield.

There was a distant cry of his name and then three car doors slamming shut before Martin registered the entirety of MJN air running towards the building, and the ex-pilot could feel his usual blush swiftly drain from his face.

A collective gasp resounded from the crowd when Martin closed his eyes and suddenly sat down on the ledge, knocking the plant over and scattering it across the sidewalk.

Oh this day couldn’t get any worse.

Then the inexperienced voice over the megaphone was replaced by that of his former employer’s, and Martin became fully convinced the world well and truly hated him.

…

“For heaven’s sake boy, what are you doing?”

Same as ever it seemed.

Martin shrugged, this was just getting ridiculous, “Hello Carolyn!”

“Yes, hello, Martin, now what are you doing up there? What’s happened?”

“A job. Beautiful day we’re having.”

“Are you drunk?”

God, he certainly felt it.

“Yes, well tomorrow’s supposed to be even better,” Douglas, was that worry he detected?

“Hi, Skip!” Arthur interrupted, still completely Arthur, and Martin waved down cheerily, “Hello Arthur!”

Douglas snatched the megaphone back from Arthur and looked thoughtful for a moment before he decided on conversational, “Been a while.”

“Four months, just about, you’ve lost weight.”

“Just the cushion.”

“Everything well?”

“Oh, I’ve been better. Yourself?”

Martin stretched his arms to remind his former first officer of the current situation, “It’s been a really bad day.”

“I gathered,” Douglas paused, his eyes never leaving the small man three stories up, “Could be worse.”

“How?”

“Could be raining.”

Martin laughed, gripping the ledge to keep from tipping forward, “I’ll-I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”

“I’d prefer if you kept them where they are. How did you get up there?”

“Doing a removal in the flat.”

Douglas was genuinely confused, “I thought you’d be too busy flying Easy Jet to keep up Icarus, don’t tell me they pay you even less-“

“I-I don’t work there anymore.”

“Well that was quick.”

“I wasn’t fired!”

“Didn’t say you were-“

“I quit!”

Douglas looked perplexed again, and Martin wondered if he knew he was showing such a face.

Carolyn took the megaphone back, “Why did you quit Martin?”

 _Because it’s not the same_.

 _Because I don’t want to fly_.

“Because… I did-didn’t want to be there,” _Because I felt even more lonely_.

When it was quiet for a moment, Martin finally admitted, “Besides, I don’t think they really wanted me there either.”

“Well, we want you Skip.”

…

Everyone turned to Arthur, who stood between the other two, his eyes impossibly honest and heavily laced with worry as he gazed up at his former captain, and Martin couldn’t help but try and reassure him with a smile.

“Thank-you Arthur, but why would you want me?”

“Because we love you,” as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Really?” don’t be daft, Martin, “Two failed careers and all?”

Arthur nodded enthusiastically and Martin managed another short laugh, “And-and what if I’m happy where I am?”

“Are you?”

 _No_.

Wasn’t he?

No, if he were honest, he wasn’t. He hated being a man with a van again, hauling people’s possessions – most stuff he couldn’t even dream of owning – from one side of Fitton to the other all so he could pay rent and mope about at night. The whole thing was infuriating despite what he had managed to convince himself. In truth, Martin couldn’t remember the last time he was happy.

That was a lie.

Martin took in the sight of MJN Air huddled on the sidewalk, the one he still remembered, the small, marginally profitable airdot that took him in because he was cheap and kept him because… well, maybe Arthur was right.

Suddenly it felt as though forty years had gone by, not four months, and Martin felt a longing that had been hidden before. He missed his family more than he had realized and he knew he had made a big mistake leaving them. Even if they had told him it was okay to go.

He wanted them back, more than anything.

Flying didn’t feel right otherwise.

And god, did he want to fly.

…

“No, no I’m not,” Martin struggled back onto his feet, gripping the building, “I haven’t been! Well – well not for a while at least, I want to fly! I really, I do!”

“What?!” He wasn’t sure who shouted, but as he tottered precariously on the ledge someone started pleadingly loudly for him to stop. Only Martin couldn’t stop, because he needed to get down in order to get up. He needed to beg for his cap back, his last epaulet, never mind them, he needed his jet – Carolyn’s - theirs - _G-ERTI_ \- he needed to fly!

Calloused fingers squeaked on the glass as the window remained firmly shut, and Martin tried his best not to panic. Pressing his back up against the concrete, Martin looked down at the murmuring and shifting crowd, their eyes wide and expecting and the policemen fretting about. No one seemed to know what to make of the sudden development, and no one was being helpful because of it.

“I never wanted to die,” Martin whined, realizing for the first time that three stories was a rather impressive height outside of an aeroplane, “I still – I just- You’re wrong, this is all a big mis- hey! SHUT UP!”

The panicked voices of the crowd and those over the megaphone fell silent, “Not everyone on a-a ledge wants to jump! If you’d listen – this is all a big misunderstanding! The-the window bolted itself shut – I can’t get in!”

“You want to come down?” the small officer from before, who looked like they had just barely wrestled the megaphone off Carolyn.

“P-preferably through the building, not off it,” Martin squeaked.

“Why didn’t you say so before?” Carolyn looked ready for a good knife hunt.

“I did!”

And Martin was very glad not to be in the officer’s shoes, “Well - someone open the bloody window!”

…

“Arthur,” Douglas turned, snapping the steward’s attention away from their now visibly shaking friend, “you’re the quickest, go get Martin.”

With a quick salute, and a hastened, “Aye, aye,” Arthur took off for the front entrance while Douglas refocused on the smaller man.

“Hold on Martin, Arthur’s coming!”

“You instill – hn – great confidence,” Martin’s hands scrambled at the building as his feet seemed unable to stop shifting anxiously, his breaths coming short, and Douglas feared Martin would fall just when he didn’t want to.

“Famous cities pronounced backwards that sound like plausible fantasy character names!”

“What?”

“Just play the game, Martin.”

Carolyn looked at Douglas disbelievingly, and Douglas shrugged having –to her suspicion – just pulled that one from his ass. It seemed to work, however, as Martin stopped tilting and started to calm down, concentrating.

“Um, Nodnol? Sirap? Nalim!”

“He’s really bad at these,” Douglas mumbled, earning a hush from Carolyn.

“Wocsom!”

…

Martin nearly jumped when he heard the window rattle and saw a firm faced Arthur unlatching the thing as an officer and Mr.Mackin raced into the empty room behind him.

When the window slid up, Martin crowed happily and crouched to get back inside. Before he could do more than grab the frame, a hand was on his wrist pulling him quickly over the sill and into a tight embrace.

Practically engulfed by one Arthur Shappey, all Martin could do was squeak and tense as Arthur near squeezed the life out of the smaller man. Though Martin stopped any thought of struggle when Arthur’s voice shook, “Next time you wanna fly Skip, let’s take G-ERTI.”

Martin relaxed into the steward’s hold, uncertainly returning his friend’s hold.

“Okay Arthur,” Martin promised and was successfully released from the Shappey’s grip.

“You mean it?”

“Of course, and, and thank-you for…”

“I had to Skip, couldn’t let you fall, you’d get hurt.”

“Yes, well… you probably shouldn’t call me Skipper anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, I’m not a captain, and for another, I’m not your captain.”

Arthur looked genuinely confused about this, “Why would you think that? I mean Herc is brilliant, but Douglas says he’s only a loan, until we could afford to pay you-“

“Wait, what?”

“Martin Crieff, you idiot!”

Arthur stepped out of the way just as Carolyn pushed through the slow gathering crowd at the doorway, grabbing Martin just as forcefully as her son had and pulling the younger man into a loving embrace. She huffed and held him close, reminding Martin of Caitlin after he realized he couldn’t be an aeroplane just by jumping off the roof.

…

Carolyn Knapp-Shappey wasn’t one to often show her softer side, let alone publicly, but when she had spotted her former pilot perched on a building’s edge, prepared to jump, she had thrown reputation to the wind and indulged herself a little when she could finally touch the scrawny man whom had wormed his way into her heart, like only a second son could.

She couldn’t begin to convey how relieved she had felt when Martin finally found his way back inside, but she didn’t have to when all the guilt and pain from the last few months came bubbling up, and all she could manage was a softly spoken, “You stupid boy, you stupid, stupid boy, I’m so sorry, Martin, I shouldn’t have let you go.”

“I shouldn’t have gone.”

Carolyn pulled back at the small voice and looked at Martin for the first time in four months. He was bigger than she remembered, and the worry lines on his face seemed to have eased slightly, but the life and laughter that had always been there before had faded, and when she caught the way he was looking at her, Carolyn wanted to hug the drippy idiot again and force him to fly her plane.

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

“You’d be surprised how impossible it is to replace you,” Douglas quipped from where he had shut the door - after herding out the concerned officers - earning a glare from Carolyn, “Budget wise.”

Martin smiled softly and Carolyn took a deep breath, not looking forward to the next part, “In fact, the only reason I let you is because I thought it’d be better for you, but now… I don’t say this often, Martin, so listen well and take it for the wondrous thing it is because you won’t hear it again – I see I was wrong.”

“What?” Martin blanked.

“As hard is may be to believe, Martin,” Douglas spoke up, “you’re not all that terrible to get along with.”

“That’s just his way of saying we care about you,” Carolyn clarified, “and that we’re sorry if we made you feel otherwise.”

When Martin could only stare silently, Arthur stammered from behind, “T-tell him about the plan!”

“What plan?”

Douglas rolled his eyes, and Carolyn suddenly looked less endearing, so Arthur continued excitedly.

“We were going to cut back on some things and Douglas and mum were offering some of their pay so we could afford to pay you, and then when we could, Douglas was going to come and sweep you off your feet so you could fly G-erti, and we’d all be together again!”

“Arthur,” Douglas growled, looking rightly embarrassed with the wording of the last part, and Martin stared openly at him.

“Really?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Carolyn said, refusing to feel the least bit uncomfortable.

“R-really?” Martin repeated, this time the disbelief laced with a large amount of hope, “Y-you wanted me back?”

“You don’t know what you have until it’s gone,” Douglas clarified.

“But-but I thought… I mean, even after I walked out on you?”

“Some mistakes you can’t fix, Martin,” Carolyn stated, and Martin’s face fell, “fortunately this isn’t one of them.”

And for all the world knew, Martin was truly happy.

…

“How’s it feel?”

“Heavy.”

“The weight of responsibility.”

“I just think Arthur put more braid on it.”

“Nervous?”

“No, no, no, no. Not nervous, no, not at all, just – just – yes, nervous. Very, incredibly nervous. I don’t know if I can, I mean I want to, but what if I’m bad?”

“It’s extremely difficult to be worse than you were.”

“Oh, ha ha, thanks for the encouragement – real inspiring stuff you got there Douglas.“

“Martin, it’ll be fine. It’s just like riding a bike.”

“Only it’s an aeroplane, and if I crash I die.”

“True, but the fundamentals are the same. Everything’s still there, you just need to get on and go.”

“Right, right, right, of course, you’re right.”

“You can do this.”

“I can do this.”

“And if not – well, that’s why we have two pilots.”

“Wonderful.”

“Ready?”

“No.”

“Martin.”

“Okay, okay... Fitton tower, Golf Tango India, ready for takeoff, runway 2.”

“Golf Tango India cleared for take-off, wind 220 5 knots.”

“Golf Tango India rolling.”

“Good luck Captain, and welcome back.”

“Thank-you tower.”

It was good to be back.

End.


End file.
